While reading some late 1970s comics for my Silver Age reread, I came across this ad. Man, did it take me back.
I wouldn’t have paid much attention to this ad when the comic came out. All my money went to books and comics — I occasionally begged my parents to buy me an album but that was as far as it went.
When I was out on my own in the 1980s, however, I signed up for the Columbia Record Club because damn, you couldn’t beat getting 12 eight-tracks (yes, I had a player) for such a low, low price. Of course, as countless people joked about in those years, it came with a down side. Like any book or record club you had to send a No letter back or you’d get the monthly selection automatically. And you had to buy a certain number within a year — or in this case ten albums in two years. Not much, but as I was being the starving writer in a big way, shelling out the money hurt. In hindsight, I wonder if anything have happened if I didn’t meet my obligations, other than reproachful reminders. I’ll never know.
Looking at this now, it’s a nostalgic reminder of the days when this kind of mail-order business was booming — at various points in the last century I belonged to the Science Fiction Book Club, the Quality Paperback Book Club and the History Book Club. There’s also the fascination of seeing who they thought worth promoting in 1970, including the people I don’t know I ever heard of: Steam, The Delfonics, Tommy Roe. And (shudder) a Bill Cosby comedy album, from the days when we didn’t know.
If your memories go back far enough, share them in comments. Or just comment.
RE: “I wonder if anything have happened if I didn’t meet my obligations, other than reproachful reminders.”
Something I recall hearing about back in the day is that college students living in the dorms would order the first set of albums for a penny or buck or whatever about a month before summer break – and use a fake name to boot. The package would arrive and the student then skipped town for summer break (and never moved back to the dorm next year), so the mail order record company, usually Columbia House, apparently had no way to track that person down. Like I said, though, this is only something I’d heard second hand and I never knew anybody who actually did it, so I have no idea if this ever really happened.
Otherwise, though, I sent away for those 10-12 albums (cassettes, actually) twice: once when I was a freshman in high school, and then again in my first or second year of college. I was a good boy both times and bought the required albums before cancelling my membership – in both cases it was only three rather than 10. The prices for those were a bit inflated, obviously, but both times it was a really good deal for me, because even with those three full-price albums, I still ended up paying way less for them altogether.
I also joined a history book club when I was in college, and again, the minimum requirement before cancellation was three more books. So like with the record club, I feel like I came out ahead when all was said and done.
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As I recall, Columbia would send a bill for the cost of the number of albums you agreed to buy, along with a deadline to pay. This happened to me.
I paid, and then the company allowed me to select albums to fulfill the “credit.” However, I don’t believe I had access to the full library; instead, I had to choose from a list of older, less popular items.
Definitely old enough. Definitely joined the club. Definitely agonized over the choice of albums (I was still committed to LPs then and later opted for cassettes over 8-tracks.) Definitely agonized over cutting the order form out of one of my precious comics. I wish I could remember which comic I chose to sacrifice and what logic I used to make the decision. If I made a project out of searching through my early Bronze Age books, I could probably find it. I never threw a comic away in those days.
I’m guessing I was in high school, though I could have been in junior high. I recall poring over the list of offerings in the double-page ad for hours, if not days. After putting that much effort into it, you’d think I’d be able to remember at least ONE record I ordered. Maybe “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Maybe “Sweet Baby James.” Maybe “A Song For You.” Maybe (shudder) “The Best of Bill Cosby.” (I was a huge Cosby fan as a kid and collected comedy albums.) Looking over the early Seventies ads, though, I’m hard pressed to find one with 12 albums that I know I owned at one point. Did I actually join? Or did I start to fill out the form, couldn’t find 12 albums I really wanted, and never finished the form and sent it in? Memory’s a trickster.
Maybe that’s why I can’t remember canceling my membership. Hmmm…